Grabbing a towel for my waist and another for my hair, I heard the bedroom door open and shut. I figured I’d woken her up and she’d made her escape. However, when I opened the door, she was standing right there, her nightgown barely hanging on to her at this point. Her hair was a mess and pushed up at the back. She looked ridiculous and sinful at the same time.
“Can I use your bathroom, please?” she asked softly, her blue eyes traveling down my abs to my crotch and then back up.
Grinning, I crossed my arms, leaning in the doorframe. “Sure, but I’m not leaving.”
“Ahh…move, you pervert!” She scowled at me, her little nose bunching up as she tried to yank me out.
Laughing, I moved out of the way, and she slammed the door behind her.
“You’re welcome!” I called out, a smile glued to my lips. I knew she was either flipping me off or making a face on the other side of the door, but it only made it funnier.
“Smile any wider, and your face might break,” Austin said when we heard her turn on the shower.
Ignoring him, I moved to the closet, knowing he would follow me. “Did you get it?”
“Ten milligrams of clonazepam…” he whispered, handing me two pills and a bottle of water. I threw them into the back of my mouth and swallowed without it. “You need to slow down, or you will run out again.”
“That’s why you’re holding the bottle, Austin,” I replied, stepping into my jeans. “I’m going out for a smoke. Make sure she’s not here when I get back.”
“Why?” Austin asked.
“What?”
He looked me over carefully, then asked, “Why do you want me to tell her to leave when you want her to stay?”
Without answering, I snatched up my jacket and left.
Amelia
I could have gone to my room. I should have. It would have saved me a lot of embarrassment, but I didn’t want to leave yet. Because of that one decision, I was now standing in front of Noah’s manager dressed in his cotton shirt because I had nothing else to change into. I was hoping—I’m not sure what I was hoping, exactly, but this was not it.
“Where is he?”
“He just went out for a little bit. We’ll see you on set. If you’d like, I will run over and grab something from your…”
He left.
Forcing a smile, I shook my head “no” to his offer because I didn’t trust my own voice. The fact that he wasn’t here meant he wanted me to leave. He didn’t want see me. Yeah. This was the Noah I knew all too well.
Picking up my nightgown and robe, I tried to keep my head up as I headed back to my room. Austin became silent, understanding the message. When he closed the door, I bit my knuckle.
Why the hell are you upset, Amelia?
You should know better. I did know better, but there was still a familiar feeling of rejection building in my chest.
Knock. Knock.
It took a second before Ollie ripped open the door, his cellphone at his ear.
“Where the hell—”
“Give me one second before you yell at me,” I whispered, sliding into the room and leaning against the white doors.
“Amelia?”
“One second more.” I held up a finger for him, blinking back my tears. I took a deep breath and then turned to him.
I started to explain. “I didn’t sleep with him or anything. He was having a hard time, so—”
“So you sacrificed your peace of mind for his comfort.” The look of disappointment and sadness on his face wasn’t helping right now.
“It’s nothing, really. He didn’t ask me to come. I came over because I was nosy, and I’ve been properly punished for it. Can I get ready now?” I didn’t wait for his answer before I stepped around him, hoping he would drop it. But Ollie always had to get the last word.
“Amelia, Noah Sloan is and will always be bad news. Nosing around him will only leave you hurt.”
“I know.” But when it came to Noah, I was apparently a masochist.
Chapter Five
Amelia
“Cut,” the director sighed, taking of his violet-tinted glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Amelia, why don’t you take a break? Everyone else, let’s pick up from scene twenty-five, Damon’s offer.”
Humiliation: if anyone deserved to copyright that shit, it was me.
I knew it was bad when even Ollie didn’t have words as I walked back to my chair. He handed me my phone, a bottle of water, and shades, because apparently I was so goddamn bad today that he was going to have to make up some excuse.
“Is she hungover or something?” someone whispered much more loudly than they needed to. But I kept my head down and scrolled through Tumblr, because I didn’t have the heart to get on Twitter. We were in the Art Institute of Chicago. Only a section of it had been closed, but I was willing to bet that some fans had managed to capture my shitty display to provide yet another reason that I didn’t deserve to be here.
“Action!” the director called again, and I looked up to see a woman dressed in a tight red dress and black heels standing beside Noah¸ who was dressed in a fitted gray suit, vest, and blue tie. He was probably uncomfortable as hell, but if he was, he didn’t show it. With ease, that smug smile of his spread across his face as he leaned closer to her.
“How much do you think this painting is worth?” he questioned.
Brushing her fingertips over the tops of the pearls around her neck, the woman pretended to think.
“Probably a few million?” she offered.
“Wrong,” he replied.
“The same price as that suit?”
“Still wrong, but cute,” he said with a wink, and I wondered how “Blair” would feel about them flirting out in the open like this.
“Well then, Mr. Shaw, tell me. What is the painting worth?”
Raising his hand, he pointed to the corner of the frame. “It’s a trick question, because the painting is worthless.”
“Worthless? That’s impossible.”
“Why? Because it’s in a museum?” he questioned, turning to face the piece. “The truth is, museums don’t buy art. They buy names. Van Gogh, Monet, Matisse. Whether it makes sense or not, whether it’s beautiful or tragic—as long as there is a name that matters in one of those four little corners, it is as good as gold.”
“Why are you telling me this?” the woman asked.
“Because you’re going to help me steal a name. I’ll be in touch, Ms. Beaulieu.” He pulled out his phone, as his character was supposed to be talking, and causally walked off scene.
“Cut. Brilliant. I liked the wink, Noah,” the director yelled, rising from his chair as the makeup artist went to the woman in red.
“Don’t you think she’d make an amazing Blair?” the same bitch, not evening bothering to whisper this time, said beside me.
I saw Ollie move to talk to her, but I shook my head. The last thing I needed was to be a talentless actress and a diva. Handing him the water, I stood up and walked away myself.
“Don’t let anyone notice you,” Ollie called out, but I was too focused on my own thoughts to care. Anyone watching today would have thought I was the one who had a fight with my father in the hall and spent the morning shaking on my bedroom floor. It was like it never happened for him, none of it.
In all of my other scenes, I was fine. But in the ones with Noah, I just couldn’t focus, and if I couldn’t separate my personal and private life, what kind of actress was I to begin with? I’d always thought of myself as a professional. Yeah, a professional idiot.
Taking out my phone, I dialed the one of four people I had on my contact list.